Almost A Happy Day
by Glow
Summary: A little look into Tristan's life at military school. Part 3 in series. [Complete]


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PAIRING: None really. It's Tristan centric with a tiny bit of Trory goodness at the end.

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RATING: PG – 13 for some swearing. I swear in my thoughts. My Tristan does too. 

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SPOILERS: Up to and including Run Away Little Boy

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DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Warner Brothers and others who have more money than I do. No infringement is intended.

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AUTHORS NOTES: The title comes from a line in _A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich_ by Aleksander Solzhenitsyn. Yes, I am aware there is a difference between military school and Siberian prison camp. Thanks for asking. I'm not particualarly happy with this it's different than what I usually write. But I'm trying to shake off a block and get back into the GG world. So here it is. 

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Almost a Happy Day

The peace of the morning was shattered. With wildly flapping wings the birds that had been on the grass fled towards the safety of the trees. Inside the iron gates, within the stone walls the hurried sounds of people getting ready for a brand new day were heard.

On the bottom bunk of an iron bed I moaned and buried my head underneath the lumpy cotton pillow I had been provided with. I mutter unhappily, "Reveille. At five fucking AM. So very, very wrong." 

I know it's useless to put off the waking up so I roll over and stretch. I glance around the drab gray room hoping for… something. Just something. No luck. I'm still at military school. I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't even having a nightmare. Sitting up, I throw off cheap military issue sheets and a scratchy army green blanket. This bed is a far cry from the one I'm used to. The king sized one with feather pillows, silk sheets and down comforter. I start my new daily ritual. The one where I berate my stupidity and curse myself for even going near that safe. It has somehow become as commonplace as brushing my teeth.

When my father informed me that I would be going to military school I was indifferent. I hadn't actually thought it would happen. Come on. I couldn't imagine that I, the prodigal son would be banished. Apparently I had thought wrong. 

When I said good bye to Rory I was sad. I knew I would miss her and Chilton and Hartford. Hell, I might even miss my parents. In the car on the way to the airport my dad droned on about family honor and accepting the consequences of my actions while I sat slumped in the back scowling and cursing my "friends." On the plane I finally resigned myself to the situation. I was going to military school. I accepted that I no longer had any choice in the matter.

But when I saw the tall, spiked iron gates and the huge stone building I admit it, I was terrified. Such, I suppose were the consequences of watching so many prison movies in a lifetime. Insanely my mind had flashed through the possibilities. Push ups, scrubbing floors by hand, sharpened toothbrushes, meeting a guy named Bubba and being forced into bitchhood.

The van had driven through the gates and four men had been there to greet me. How nice, huh? But they weren't exactly bell boys. They screamed orders and insults at me and my worthless self. I tuned them out and put on the cool, cocky attitude that had always served me well in the past.

After all I am Tristan DuGrey. Tristan DuGrey is no one's bitch.

So I pretty much ignored them. I watched as they went through my stuff. The bastards confiscated my cell phone, pager and wallet. Can you believe that? Later, I sat stoically in the barber's chair as they shaved off my hair. 

I didn't say a word as they led me through a maze of hallways to a bunk in a large room. It was dark so I had no idea where I was exactly. They ordered me to get to sleep. I was never very god at following orders. So of course I didn't actually manage to fall asleep until approximately 2 seconds before the damn trumpets sounded. Honestly, trumpets? What kind of crap is that? Why not just invest in a freaking rooster? I had slowly gotten up and sat on the edge of my bed just like I'm doing now. 

Now, in the present I realize I had better get my shit together. I grab my watch and oh look; I've wasted a whole five minutes. Breakfast is served promptly at 5:30. If you're late you don't eat. Period. I head for the bathroom. I actually have to share it with 5 roommates. Me. A guy who's had his own bathroom since birth. That's #382 on the list of reasons why military school bites. Heading into a stall I ignore the indignant "Hey!" of one of my roommates. I'm cutting in line. The kid will just have to deal. I shoot him a withering look and he instantly shuts up.

I smile a little, secretly. I've managed to climb the ranks of the military school social hierarchy quite quickly. It's not like Chilton where when you're on the top you're worshipped. Here being at the top means I'm not to be harmed because I'm feared. My first day was rough, I'll admit. The other guys had taken one look at me and began taking bets on how long I'd last before my daddy rescued me. They had called me "pretty boy" and "Richie rich." All of your standard new kid nicknames, really. Uncreative but accurate. I understood. I've given out a few nicknames myself. But all that had stopped after I punched one of them. What? He was annoying me. He called me an accountant. I nearly shattered the guys jaw. From then on they had pretty much leave me alone. I like it better this way.

I dig through the trunk at the foot of my bunk. Pulling out oh-so stylish mud colored shirt that bears the insignia of the school, gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie I get dressed. Grimacing and rubbing a towel over my hair, I get rid of any water left on the stubble and leave the room. I head straight to the mess hall and get in line. No one speaks to me and I don't try talking to anyone else.

Bored I glance around the room. The walls are the same dingy color as the rest of the school. The floor tiles are kind of gray they might have been white at one point. Who could say? The schools insignia and motto are emblazoned across one wall. Honor. Discipline. Respect.

Teenage boys of various shapes and ages were scattered around tables. The air buzzes with conversation. Not too loudly though, that can get you in trouble. Each boy is dressed in a similar manner and all of them have shaved heads. Military school isn't big on individuality. 

The line moves forward and I grab myself a tray. I take a carton of milk and one of orange juice. A plate lands on my tray. Huh. Rubbery eggs. Chunky gray oatmeal. Bacon-like substance. The food here? Bad. So bad that it doesn't really even deserve to be called food. That's an insult to cheeseburgers. It's generally a bad idea to think about food. It makes me wish I were at home where there's a full time cook and I have a car and a credit card should I feel the need to leave. Hortense is an awesome cook. The food is #98 on my growing list of reasons.

I find a nearly empty table and sit down at the end. Staring down at my plate my stomach turns in horror. I challenge it to defy me and begin to eat. It's bearable. You just have to take every mouthful with some orange juice. Hey, it's been worse. At least this week the bacon-like substance looks fairly dead. I finish up just as the whistle blows at 6:00. En masse we stream out into the courtyard. The air is chilly. Instructions are being shouted. We form ranks. Five in a row, six rows long, ten different groups. A sergeant takes the lead and we run. 

Five miles in half an hour. Another half-hour of push-ups, sit ups, jumping jacks and any other physical torture their evil little brains can devise. And trust me, they devise plenty. At 7:00 we are dismissed. Sometimes they keep us longer but everyone behaved himself today. Muscles burning we head back to our dorms. We have an hour before inspection. I flop down on my bunk. The shower starts up in the background. Six people, one shower. You do the math.

Unwillingly I get up. I make my bed quickly, with hospital corners. Pretty damn good considering I had never even made a bed up until two weeks ago. The shower shuts off. Grabbing my towel and bucket I rush to the bathroom. I get there first. I shower quickly, efficiently. There's only so much hot water to go around. The old Tristan would have said to hell with the others. But the old Tristan had been pushed aside after two hours in this place. He came out when necessary but usually he was content to curse the world by himself. I'm not even sure if I like new Tristan. 

I get out, dry off and dress in my school uniform. Crisp, navy blue pants, starched lighter blue shirt with my name and number on the front pocket. Tie. Shined black boots. Hat. I'm ready. And with twenty minutes to spare. Not having any hair to mess with really does cut down on my primping time.

I look over my school stuff, making sure I have everything I could need. The curriculum was vastly different than what I was used to at Chilton. It's very… basic. I pretty much sail through the whole thing. If you can read and multiply, you're set.

I sit down on my trunk so I don't mess up my bed. Now, I'm almost wishing I had something to do. If idle hands are the Devil's playground an idle mind must be the Devil's crack house. My mind wandered. All the way back to Connecticut. 

My parents. I wondered if they were happier. Did they fight less? They fought constantly. About money, about alleged infidelities about everything, about me. I'd always known it was my fault. I wasn't good enough.

School. Chilton. Does anyone even notice that I'm not there? I wonder how the play went. I wonder how my friends are. I haven't heard from any of them. I wonder if my parents told everyone where I actually am. Rory knows. But she wouldn't tell.

Rory…

"DuGrey!" a voice barked.

My head snapped up. "Yeah?" I answered.

"Mail call!" 

A package came flying at my head. I caught it just before it made contact. "Thanks!" I called, but the guy had already continued down the hall.

I examined the box. I wasn't expecting anything. I had never received anything before. With a shrug I split the box open with my pocketknife. On the very top there was an envelope with his name scrawled across the front. I rip it open, inside there's a note. It says:

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Tristan,

I figured that you'd be going crazy. Girl-lessness and all. With a little help (Paris, my grandma) and some covert operations (my grandma's cook knows you're cook, or something of that nature) I've found you're location and put together some stuff. Enjoy.

Rory (RORY!)

PS It was Louise. Paris is still plotting revenge. Don't worry. You'll get it in a second.

I set the note aside. Eagerly dumping the box out I look through it. First, a round tin. Opening it up I'm greeted with the heavenly aroma of chocolate chip cookies. Stuffing one in my mouth and closing my eyes I savor it like a starving man. Then I make a mental note to hide them and like an impatient little kid grab the next item. A copy of The Franklin. The headline reads "English Assignment Yields A Night of Entertainment!" in large black letters. The byline is oddly empty. Looking at the picture I understand why. I also understand Rory's PS. Choking on the cookie still in my mouth I can't contain my laughter. It's a shot of Rory and Paris in the last act in a position I had never, ever thought they'd be in. I laugh harder thinking of how pissed this must have made Paris. I hope Louise can run fast.

I hear the next room begin inspection and quickly shove the items back into the box. There are letters from Paris, Madeline and a few of my other friends. What appears to be a journal, some books, a few chocolate bars, and various other items are shoved into my trunk. I stand up straight getting ready and the drill sergeant enters. 

I pass inspection. I barely hear anything he said. We are sent to class and I go, happy for once. Yes, I'm still at military school. Yes, the food sucks and I have to share a bathroom. Yes I will still have to kill myself daily exercising and yes I'm all alone away from home for who knows how long.

But today I have cookies. Today I have letters and gifts from home and Rory, who apparently doesn't hate me after all. Today I didn't have to run extra miles. Today the water in my shower was hot. Today I passed inspection.

Today was almost a happy day.

END 

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AUTHORS NOTES DEUX: This fic is what happens when a girl stays up until 2 AM giddily studying for her finals. Yeah, I like exams, what of it? This idea popped into my head and I started typing. Truthfully I only vaguely remember. Lack of sleep does that to a person. Usually I write by hand then transfer to a word processor and edit. It's un-betaed so all mistakes are my own. I didn't want to but too much thought into it beyond the initial writing. I figured I could blame it's weird not-all-that-goodosity on my insanity.

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AUTHORS NOTES TROIS: Oh yeah. Reviews kick ass. Questions, comments, queries, insults? Click the button. Review whore = me.


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